


Awit ng Kalayaan - Song of Freedom

by MiyaginoAsakura



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: IDK how to tag this tbh, Multi, Philippine Revolution AU!!!, dont expect constant updates, my first ao3 fic :), there are like way more characters but im lazy af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiyaginoAsakura/pseuds/MiyaginoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I..." I was giggling slightly, and once I acknowledged that, I began laughing louder. Aquiles' expression is of one confused, and I steady myself after as I explain. "You know, we both share that exact same sentiment. I was afraid that if you knew about what I'd done, you'd no longer talk to me. You say that if I knew you were the Governor-General's son, my view of you would change as well. But to clear your doubts, Aquiles, I would not look at you differently if you were a Pelayo or a child of Negritos. You are still my roommate, and you are still my friend. Nothing in the world would ever change that."</p>
<p>Aquiles stares at me, contemplating, then smiles. The smile he shows at me now is nothing like the ones he gives to the other boys. It is like the sun when he does, warm and welcoming. "The same can be said for you, Patrocinio."</p>
<p>-- The Song of Achilles in a Philippine Revolution Setting</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awit ng Kalayaan - Song of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Mia, and AAAAHHHH this is my first patrochilles fic ever and I'm very excited to post it here! I got the idea from a series of fics I read when I was younger and thought, hey, a Philippine Revolution AU isn't such a bad idea for Patrochilles! Thus, here it is. I hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> Also, some Filipino words will be used in this fic. I'll put their definitions in the end notes in case you'll need the context. (Plus points to fellow Filipinos out there for getting it!)

My father desired that the first to be born would be a girl, one who would be the epitome of beauty and grace and everything that I was not. She will be called Patrocinio, he said, a name that sung of a protector, a servant, a woman who would not disgrace the honor of my family, the Mejias of the province of Ilocos.

Many found it odd; for a person as influential as Mariano Enrique Mejia, then the gobernadorcillo of the sleepy town I grew up in, would it not be better to have a son to pass on the name? A son to succeed his position?

The union that led to my birth was not one of love. It was one of obligation, one made to please the fathers of both sides. My grandfather on my mother's side was a social climber, an Indio whose business thrived and needed to grow with the help of the Mejias. My grandfather on my father's side only agreed to it since the combined fortune of the two families would raise their esteem further. But otherwise, I am sure that he would not have let my father be caught with an Indio's half-blood daughter, much more let him be bound to her in the sacred vow of matrimony.

Patrocinio, I recall someone saying once, a hushed whisper not meant to fall on my ears, was to be the sign of his resentment - loathing - against his marriage. The one excuse he would need to break it off, to be a free man. Having a daughter, regardless of how well she would be raised, is always a million times worse than having a son.

Death broke the union of the vow; my mother died when I was born. But the strong tie of the wedding rings was replaced by the stronger ties of blood. To my father's disappointment, my mother bore him a healthy son. Had I been able to speak at the time, maybe I would have gotten a better name. Patrocinio stayed anyway.

\-----

Patrocinio, Patrocinio.

The boys at school taunt at me. I do not look at them, knowing that my attention will only make it worse.

A girl's name to suit a boy who is cowardly. A girl's name to suit a boy who is weak.

I hate my name. I hate the fact that I am not strong enough, not smart enough, to fight back. I hate that I am everything that is opposite of what a son should be. But most of all, I hate that I am not the son I know my father should have. I resemble my mother more than I do him, with my eyes too big and my skin too dark. All I inherited were the specks that decorated his skin like paint splashes. I am soft spoken rather than outgoing, hiding behind books rather than playing in the sun.

I am ten when I choose to stop hiding. I am outside of the walls of the classroom, by myself under a sampaloc tree, content playing with the pair of dice my mother used to own. The Philippine sun kisses my cheeks through the leaves above me. Everything is fine until a boy - Crisostomo was his name, I think - approaches. He is older than me, larger and disgustingly fleshy.

"Oh, these look nice." Crisostomo only speaks Tagalog when he talks to me, a reminder of my lack of Spanish blood in my looks. His accent almost makes me laugh, but he suddenly snatches the dice from my hand. "You will not mind if I take these, will you, Señorita Patrocinio?"

It is not the first time he has taken something from me, but this time it will be the last. He is about to leave when I make a sound of protest. "I will mind, Señor Crisostomo," I say. "Those are my mother's dice; all I have left of her memory. And I am all too familiar with your reputation of taking that which does not belong to you. Please give them back to me. I would not like them to be lost because of you."

Crisostomo is an Insulares, a pure blood, with skin as white as sampaguitas. It turns into an unflattering shade of red when he is angered, and it does so now at my outburst. "Is the protector with nothing to protect actually talking up to me? Ay, Señorita, it will do you no good to be feisty. How will anyone choose you if you continue to act that way, ha? Now be a good girl and behave!"

He swings to hit me and I dodge the blow. Then it happens too quickly. 

I mean to trip him slightly, to make him a little disoriented and to show that I will not go down without a fight. The grass under the tree was always soft under my fingertips, like the Abel de Iloco my mother weaves for the neighbors. It is not that way for Crisostomo. His head meets the rock with a sickening crack, and he suddenly goes limp. He does not move at all.

I stare in disbelief. I drop to the ground and shake him. "Crisostomo? Are you alright?" His eyes are still open, and drops of blood pour out from the back of his head, red and vivid like gumamela. "Hey, stop joking around! Answer me!" I shake him harder. His head lolls the side and I see his skull, brains peeking out of his dark hair.

I stand up in a rush and step back, aghast, at what I'd done. My throat constricts in horror. When I run, I do not look back. It only occurs to me once the maestros find me, shivering in the corner of an abandoned classroom, that I'd left my mother's dice behind.

\-----

Ateneo Municipal de Manila is an all-boys school that lies within the famed walls of Intramuros. It is run by priests, Jesuits, and it caters especially to children who have wealth in their future. I do not have any wealth in my future; the moment the issue regarding Crisostomo's death was resolved (for his family too, was very influential in Ilocos - they were second only to mine), my father packed away all my belongings and sent me on a one-way trip to Manila. He was a free man now, just as he wished, but I was not; Crisostomo's pale figure plagues me every night, taunting me, trapping me, whispering, You did this. You caused all of this.

I think it odd that I now have to study in Ateneo. While my old school is prestigious in Ilocos, Ateneo is certainly in a class by itself. It is reserved especially for big names, and children with heads as big as their self-importance. But the prestige of Ateneo is something like a double-edged sword aimed at me; being surrounded by untainted reputations would only show the blemishes on mine. I felt out of place as a priest led me to the headmaster's room; it is like he is a Guardia Sibil and I am a convict about to face my sentence.

I am passing by the courtyard when I see a group of students laughing and telling stories I could not overhear. The boy they flock to immediately stands out - gold, curly hair, as if woven with the purest of sunshine, skin the color of sand, his voice like still waters, clear and bright. He is like the embodiment of summer and warmth. He glances at me - kaleidoscope eyes, green, then blue, then gold - and I avert my gaze as if scalded.

The headmaster is Padre Ferrera. He is a priest plump with age, dark brown hair greying slightly. Judging by the red cheeks, he must still be getting used to the country's climate. My homeland is a place of two extremes - if it rains, it pours; if it shines, it burns. He does not look up when the priest and me enter, eyes still scanning the sheet in front of him.

"Patrocinio Mejia Ortega y Buendia Agoncillo?" Padre Ferrera looks up after a few moments of silence.

I nod. I do not speak even if I am spoken to, for fear that my voice will waver if I do.

"Ah, so this is the boy who killed Antonio's son..." He states the fact as if I am not aware of what I have done. His gaze flickers back to the papers - which I assume are a report of what had transpired - then back to me. His Tagalog is highly accented, almost difficult to understand. "Even if what you have done was out of self-defense, you do realize the grave sin you have committed, do you not?"

I knew he would say that. This is the cruelty of adults. 

I do not need to be reminded of that which I already know, I want to yell at him. I will live with this sin for the rest of my life, and not a day goes by in which I am not forced to remember this fact.

Instead I stay silent and nod.

"You do realize as well that we are doing you a huge service, allowing you to study here despite what you've done?"

I do. Everyone tells me that.

I nod again, keeping my eyes to the ground.

"Good." He motions for us to leave. "Padre Martinez will show you around. God may show some mercy on you yet."

\-----

Padre Martinez does show me around the school, but he does so with a bored voice. He points out which buildings to go to, which buildings to avoid. Sometimes I struggle to catch up with him - my belongings drag me down. But afterwards he leads me to the dorms so I can rest and prepare for a full day of school tomorrow. 

My room is at the end of the hall, nearest to the bathroom. When I open it, I am greeted by the sight of the boy from earlier, who is lying on the bed with his shoes on and his coat on the floor. His eyes widen. He puts the book he is reading (Dante's Inferno, I believe) and rises when he sees Padre Martinez.

"Señor Aquiles," Padre Martinez says dully, addressing the boy. Aquiles, I think. A name to go with the face.

Aquiles bows. "Padre Martinez. May I know what brings you here this afternoon, sir?"

The priest motions to me. "Patrocinio here is your new roommate. It is thus your responsibility to make sure he does well. You will be his guide as he adapts to his new surroundings. You will help him catch up with his academics as well. Is that clear?" he says in rapid Spanish.

Aquiles nods. "Yes, Padre Martinez."

"As you were," he says, then leaves without closing the door. I close it, but make no move to claim my side of the room.

Aquiles stares at me, regarding me with his kaleidoscope eyes. They are like the blue summer sky veiled by green leaves. A true child of summer, I think.

"Patrocinio, was it?" he asks, his Spanish more articulate than mine could ever be. He pronounces my name with ease, drawing out the syllables carefully, as if not wanting to be rid of it as most do. "I hope you will not find this question to be rude, but you are clearly not a girl. Why is it that you have a girl's name?"

I spare him the tragic tale of my father's complex desire for a daughter. "My father liked the name," I say simply.

"I see then." He doesn't pry further, thankfully.

I set my bag down next to my bed and begin unpacking, setting what little I have on my bed. Some clothes, some books, and a portrait of the mother I never knew. Sometimes, when the town sleeps and the moonlight pours through my window, I stare at it, praying to her, wondering about the life I might have had if she lived.

But nowadays, I wonder about the life I might have had if Crisostomo lived.

\-----

School days are monotonous, dragging on like a beat without a melody. I never see Aquiles in the morning. He always goes off to places I do not know, places that I do not intend to follow. I catch glimpses of him in the hallways, laughing with those same boys I saw him with on my first day. He can afford to be carefree and innocent; I no longer can.

The only person I consider as a friend so far is Aquiles. He and I talk when the day is over and our stomachs are full from dinner. I like to pinpoint the beginnings of our somewhat friendship to that time when I asked him why he was reading Dante’s Inferno. He replied something along the lines of being amused at Dante’s strong feelings towards Vergil. We mostly talk about the priests we dislike or the boys who annoy us. Sometimes he helps me with my assignments and I help him in return. He never brings up my past, but sometimes discusses his, particularly his overbearing mother. It isn't much, but these talks make me feel that despite what happened in my past, I am capable of moving forward and having a normal life once more.

It is difficult to make friends here. It seems that everyone already has a group they belong to, and all available positions had been filled before my arrival. When the boys find out about what I've done, perhaps from Padre Martinez, perhaps from my father or theirs, their whispers and looks of fear choke me. But that is not the worst.

Crisostomo visit me continuously, as bloody and pale as I remember him. When I wake, he leaves me as cold as the tomb in which he now resides. I usually keep silent when it happens, trying to calm my pulse. My heart thunders in my ears, but the thunder eventually turns into the sound of water dropping into a small pool. I try to go back to sleep once more, but his image draws my breath out harsher, leaving me a sweating, exhausted mess. That is the worst.

On one of those nights I wake Aquiles up by accident. I had screamed, and in a rush he searched for the match. The oil lamp burned brightly between us. Worry was etched on his features, illuminated by the yellow light. "What happened? Was it a bad dream?"

It depends on your definition of bad, I think. But I nod instead, my eyes turning to the ground.

Aquiles is silent. I can still feel his gaze on me when he takes my hand in his, a gesture to show his wish to provide comfort. "Would you like to talk about it? It might help."

I shake my head. My skin is burning where he holds me, and I pull my hand away. "I will be fine. It... It wasn't too bad. It was just a dream."

He nods, then settles back into his bed once more. "Well, if it happens again and you need to talk about it, do not hesitate to wake me. Good night, Patrocinio."

Pa-tro-ci-nio.

"Good night, Aquiles," I reply. I blow out the flame and wait for sleep to come once more. Crisostomo does not return that night.

\-----

The boys' voices reach me as I make my way to my classroom after breakfast. I am about to turn at the corner when Aquiles' voice rings out, voice as clear as piano notes.

"Patrocinio had a nightmare the night before," he said idly. I freeze on the spot. "He seemed rather shaken, like he was on the verge of tears. He would not tell me about what he dreamt, though."

"Ah, it must be the boy he killed haunting him."

The surprise in Aquiles' voice is evident. It surprises me too, that the rumors haven't reached him yet. "The boy he killed? What do you... He killed someone?"

"Yes, Crisostomo Villalon. I heard that Patrocinio stabbed him many times and drank his blood afterwards. He did not even have a reason for attacking, just did it."

"Patrocinio wouldn't do that."

"I bet he would. Patrocinio may look harmless, but I'm sure he would attack anyone at the drop of a hat. It is unfortunate that you only heard of this now, Señor Aquiles. It must be terrible for you, knowing that you share a room with a murderer."

I do not hear what Aquiles replies. I run away at once, looking for a place to hide, a place where their voices would no longer reach me. Even if I have not talked to Aquiles as often as I should have, I refused to think of losing him to the boy's exaggerated versions of the truth. He may have been my only chance at having a normal life here. Now that it is happening, I cannot help but feel an emptiness, a hollowness where there should be substance. I am used to solitude at this point, so I no longer care if he leaves. I will be fine by myself; I always have been.

I skip class that day. I know the faces of the boys who crowd Aquiles, and I can no longer bear to look at them. I hide in the back of the kitchen, huddling between the boxes of keso de bola and ham. I try to recall my mother's face and the things I imagined we would do together. We would skip rocks, we would visit the Church together on Sundays, and maybe she would buy me halo-halo after the long sermons that the parish priest would give.

"You do know that Padre Ernesto is looking for you, right?"

I look up. Aquiles is staring down at me, his arms crossed over his chest. His coat is tied around his waist, his tie loose, his sleeves rolled back. He blows a stray hair strand away from his face.

"And they sent you here to look for me?" I ask, trying to remove any sadness in my voice. He is the last person I want to see at the moment, for fear of what he might think now that he is aware of what I have done.

"I came on my own," Aquiles replies as if it is the most obvious reason. "The other boys told me about you. I also heard Padre Ernesto talking to Padre Martinez. Are you..." He hesitates, and I am curious as to what he planned on saying then. "Are you unwell? If so, it will serve as a valid reason for him not to beat you."

"I am well."

"Then what is your excuse?"

I am tired. I do not meet his gaze. "It is none of your business."

"I will have you know that it is," he says patiently. "As your roommate, it is my responsibility to see to it that you are doing well. You are aware of what Padre Martinez said. You were there."

His insistence is replacing my exhaustion with anger. "I am aware. But you do not have to baby me. I can handle myself just fine."

"Well, if you can, you certainly would not miss class."

"Why are you so concerned? Did you not hear of what the other boys have said about me? What I've done?"

"I have." Aquiles' face does not change. "But your past has nothing to do with the present. Your responsibility, at this time, is to attend class. If you fail to do this, it will only tarnish your reputation further."

"I do not want to see the other boys anymore!" My voice rises with the heat on my cheeks. I feel like I am unnecessarily on the verge of tears. "I... I cannot take it. I do not want to be reminded of what I have done. I remind myself daily. Crisostomo reminds me nightly. I've had enough, and my head is so full of their words that it feels like it is about to burst. So, please, do not make me go back. I do not care if I am beaten. I do not care if it will blemish my name further. If it means I will finally have peace, if it means that the words will disappear, then so be it."

Aquiles regards me for a moment. The silence between us speaks loudly. After what feels like eternity, but what might just be a less than a minute, he motions for me to rise. "Come."

"What?"

"Get up. You will join me in my lessons."

"Your... lessons?" I say as I stand up. Aquiles is already leading the way, exiting the kitchen. He does not look back and I move to follow him.

"My lessons. I take separate lessons from the other boys since... well, my father insists that I do since I am to succeed his position."

I catch up to him, walking beside him now. "Won't your father mind, then, if someone like me were to go with you?"

"If he wishes for me to be aware of this nation's state, then who better to be with me than you?"

"Wait, you lost me." I stop, and Aquiles turns to face me. "So I never see you with the other boys... because you are taking separate lessons? Who is your father?"

Aquiles turns red and does not meet my gaze. "His name is Francisco Pelayo. He is–"

"The Governor-General?" I interrupt, eyes widening. "And if you are to succeed his position–"

He interrupts me, red from embarrassment. "I am not allowed to tell anyone that I am his son. The only ones who know are the priests, and now you. I refuse to tell the other boys who I am because I do not want to be treated differently. I'm sure that they will if they find out, and now that you've found out, I'm sure you'll treat me differently too!"

"I..." I was giggling slightly, and once I acknowledged that, I began laughing louder. Aquiles' expression is of one confused, and I steady myself after as I explain. "You know, we both share that exact same sentiment. I was afraid that if you knew about what I'd done, you'd no longer talk to me. You say that if I knew you were the Governor-General's son, my view of you would change as well. But to clear your doubts, Aquiles, I would not look at you differently if you were a Pelayo or a child of Negritos. You are still my roommate, and you are still my friend. Nothing in the world would ever change that."

Aquiles stares at me, contemplating, then smiles. The smile he shows at me now is nothing like the ones he gives to the other boys. It is like the sun when he does, warm and welcoming. "The same can be said for you, Patrocinio. I will not pry any further about Crisostomo. You can tell me in your own time. You are my roommate, the only true friend I've had here, and nothing in the world would ever change that." He turns and walks away. "You better hurry up. I'd hate it if the two of us were beaten for being late."

"Sure thing, Aquiles," I reply, and follow behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitions:  
> Ilocos - a province in Northern Luzon  
> Gobernadorcillo - the equivalent of a mayor during the colonial era  
> Indio - a full-blooded Austronesian (or in this case, Filipino)  
> Sampaloc - tamarind  
> Insulares - full-blooded Spaniards born in the Philippines  
> Abel de Iloco - a traditional woven product of Ilocos  
> Gumamela - Hibiscus flower  
> Intramuros, Manila - the capital of the Philippines at the time  
> Guardia Sibil - the law enforcement or police at the time  
> Padre - priest  
> Negritos - full blooded Aeta, Batak, or Mamanwa
> 
> Just to set it straight, not all the figures in this fic are historically accurate. I don't think there was a governor-general named Francisco Pelayo, and the Mejias aren't exactly the influential family of Ilocos in reality. That honor belongs to a different family right now. MANY ANACHRONISMS, I KNOW. But anyways, tell me what you think of it so far! I'm glad to receive any comments or feedback about this. :D


End file.
